


I Won't Run Away

by a_static_world



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Genre: AU, Babies!, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), ben platt inspired, oh baby boys, sam calls bucky jamie, some steve bashing but not very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: Sam and Bucky didn’t meet in the conventional way. “Conventional” was a coffee shop meet-cute, a dating site, a high school rivalry blossoming into a fruitful marriage.The first time Sam met Bucky, they were literally trying to kill each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, sambucky, winterfalcon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 123





	I Won't Run Away

**Author's Note:**

> HI a little disclaimer Sam calls Bucky "Jamie", but in the story he's still referred to as Bucky because that's how I think of him (whoops). Sorry for any confusion and enjoy!

Sam and Bucky didn’t meet in the conventional way. “Conventional” was a coffee shop meet-cute, a dating site, a high school rivalry blossoming into a fruitful marriage. 

The first time Sam met Bucky, they were  _ literally _ trying to kill each other. 

After that, they never really got a chance to know each other. There was too much fighting-dying-hiding-running-Steve-ing going on for them to really bond. But Sam was courteous, cautious of how much Bucky seemingly meant to Steve, curious about the brainwashed-assassin-turned-ally. Because who wouldn’t be, with pecs like that, his arm gleaming in the sun, the- 

Nope. 

Not going there, Wilson. There’s things to be done. 

But after the final snap, after Tony’s sacrifice, after Steve turned into something decidedly not-Steve, well. Bucky and Sam suddenly had much more to talk about. They’d stay up late, knee-to-knee in Pepper’s kitchen, Sam chatting away until Bucky had enough asgardian liquor in him to tell his own stories. Pepper brought up the idea of the two of them getting away, a retreat to some far-off property of Stark’s in the pacific northwest. Sometimes the lake, the Pym pad, the aftermath were just too close for comfort. 

And so they went. 

The beginning was...tense. Too often Sam woke up, cold sweats and clenched teeth, to Bucky screaming down the hall. They slipped into a routine, then. Sam would pile into Bucky’s king mattress, feeling across the sheets until- there. An arm, a shoulder, a face. Shaking Bucky until he flailed out, twisting Sam's pajamas in his good fist, making sure his left arm was slack at his side. The fear was still there, Sam knew. That he would wake up, arm once again dripping red, once again some rich brute’s new plaything. So every night, as he soothed, Sam would murmur the same words his momma said to him after his nightmares. 

“I may not be wise, and I won’t save the day, but look in my eyes, and know I’ll always stay. And I won’t run away.” 

And then Bucky would open his eyes, and mumble something about Sam, you idiot, you’re Captain America, you’d better save the damn day. And then Sam would laugh, too big and loud for the 3 AM quiet, but Bucky’s eyes would crinkle as he tugged Sam under the covers and fell back asleep. And damn, Sam might be Captain America, but making Bucky smile like that felt even better than the heft of the shield on his arm. 

Eventually the bubble burst, and Bucky and Sam had to go back to saving the world, Post-Rogers (Sam refused to call him Steve- he’d said it one day and the look on Bucky’s face was enough to make him nauseous). 

But they made it through, the two of them, sharing a small Chicago apartment- single bed, for monetary reasons, Sam argued. No use wasting money when superheroing doesn’t exactly guarantee payment. Plus, if Bucky really needed space, Sam didn’t mind sleeping on the couch. 

In fights, the two of them moved like a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync with or without comms. Bucky, trained in every type of martial art, handled speed and ground, while Sam picked people off from above, oscillating between worry and triumph as Bucky pummeled man after man into the concrete, or grass, or tarmac, or insert-fight-ground-here. 

The nightmares were always worse after a fight. Bucky would come home dead to the world, eyes glazed over in a way that made Sam’s heart skip a beat- in a bad way. The shower would squeal, hot water rattling through the pipes as Bucky shucked off his kevlar and started to mechanically soap up.

Not that Sam ever thought about Bucky showering. 

When Bucky was done, he’d go straight through to the bedroom, hair dripping as he methodically and also nakedly hung up his gear. 

Sam took cold showers. 

One day, after a particularly hard fight, Bucky tugged Sam to the bathroom with him. 

“Wha- hey, bud, what’s going on here?”

Bucky only gestured dully to his hair, motioning for Sam to wait until he was done showering. Sam turned his back, tried not to shudder as the sound of kevlar thudding on tile filled the small space-along with the implications of what it meant. Five minutes later the knob squealed and Bucky emerged, towel mercifully around his hips, smelling of pine and something absolutely delicious that made Sam’s mouth water just a little bit. 

“Jamie? You okay?”

Bucky only gestured to his hair again, muttering something Sam couldn’t pick up. 

“You gotta be louder, Jamie, can’t hear you over all the super-soldier-sexy.”

At this Bucky looked up- _ finally, thank god- _ and said, clearly, “I want it gone, Sam. The hair.” 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Sam was struck suddenly by how long Bucky’s hair had gotten, how much it must remind him of the lack of autonomy he still feared. 

“Yeah, okay, Jame. I can do that for you.”

He guided Bucky to the edge of the tub, sitting him down, and standing in the still-damp basin. The electric trimmer flicked on, and Bucky  _ flinched _ and oh, shit. Trimmer off. 

“I can do it with scissors, too?”

The question sliced across the tension of the bathroom, Bucky’s shoulders slumping in relief as he nodded. Scissors it was. 

An hour later, and Bucky had something close to respectable. His hair was...fluffy. It curled up, still slightly damp, and dammit, Sam just couldn’t stop running his fingers through it. He gingerly brushed the hair off of Bucky’s shoulders, standing him up, maneuvering him until he was facing the mirror.

“So,” Of fuckin’ course his voice cracked. Sam cleared his throat and tried again.

“Whaddaya think?”

Bucky whirled around, hugging Sam so fiercely that he nearly toppled over, hands coming up to rest on Bucky’s back, blunt nails dragging against the freshly shorn scalp. Bucky buried his face in Sam’s neck, already wet with tears.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, Jamie, no problem. Looks fresh as hell on you, man.”

And then Bucky’s lips were on Sam’s, and  _ he tastes like cherries. _

The dynamic had shifted, in a single, seismic moment that made Sam see stars and nearly vomit butterflies. 

Lips turned to teeth and tongues and licking up jawlines and nibbling earlobes until Sam was a mess, all the yearning he had crushed down spilling out of him until they were both panting, laughing, kissing like high schoolers in a not-so-secluded alcove. 

Eventually they made their way to their bedroom, sliding under the blankets, Bucky scooting over to tangle his legs in with Sam’s.  _ This _ , Sam thought, closing his eyes as he felt Bucky’s breathing slow.  _ This, and nothing but this, for the rest of my life. _

Every fight became ten times scarier, Sam biting his tongue as he watched Bucky pull risky maneuvers, trusting him enough to let him be, but  _ holy shit is that terrifying to watch _ . If Rogers had ever loved his Jamie at all, Sam didn’t know how he dealt with it. 

So they continued, month after month, settling into a rhythm. Becoming regulars at the local Pad Thai restaurant. Holding each other through nightmares. Taking walking tours of museums because they could, and they were in love, and it was enough. 

Sam bought the ring as fast as he fucking could. 

It was Wednesday night, date night, and Sam had the ring tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Silicone, so it would stay on Bucky’s hand ( _ and also because Jamie hates the feeling of metal on his skin _ ).

He fiddled with it all through dinner, Bucky giving him strange looks as he tried to eat pizza one-handed. He had to do this. 

“Hey, Jamie. Baby, I love you more each day. And- and to love is not to leave, so listen,”

Sam’s eyes welled up.  _ Fuck _ , he loved this man.

“I may not be wise, and I won’t save the day, but look in my eyes, and know I’ll always stay.”

Ring out, one knee down, eyes locked on Bucky’s baby blue, albeit watery, eyes.

“And I won’t run away. Marry me?”

“God, jesus, yes. Absolutely fucking yes.”

Ring on finger, not a dry eye in the entire restaurant.  _ Good one, Wilson. _

They weren’t going anywhere. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi i did this instead of studying for my exams whoops  
> "we don't blame you, static!" thank you so much guys  
> i for sure stole some ben platt lyrics so those are NOT MINE I did NOT WRITE THEM  
> thought i'd switch up my finnpoe flow with a little sambucky for the Flavor even though I have eight prompts for finnpoe written  
> anyway I hope you enjoyed ! comments and kudos always appreciated, if you need me i'll be twenty pages deep in stormpilot fics  
> ALSO THATS ALMOST 1.4k YALL THE COMIC SANS HACK WORKS


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